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Chapter 91 Happy New Year's Eve

The fireplace is an Italian stone sculpture; the fire has gone out, but the warmth remains.

Mikhail sat motionless at the table.

The phone sat quietly beside him as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the clock hanging on the wall.

9:05 PM.

It was five minutes late.

Mikhail waited patiently for a while longer.

Finally, the phone rang.

He raised his hand, picked up the receiver, and held it to his ear.

"Hey."

"it's me."

Boris's voice came from the other end of the line, "Just came down from Odessa, something came up and I was held up."

Mikhail responded with a soft "hmm".

“The photos are very useful,” Boris said. “My partners looked at them, and they approved your request.”

"So, when do you want to make your move?"

Mikhail secretly breathed a sigh of relief, but maintained his composure as he spoke: "On New Year's Eve."

"why?"

"Because I'm certain that Igor will host a private party in that old house north of Yevpatoria."

“The former sanatorium had an open area, but access was controlled.”

There were about twenty people present, most of whom were familiar faces. It was a dinner party with drinks and music.

"The key point is—he will bring Alexei."

“What can taking care of a child change?” Boris scoffed. “He’s not a housewife.”

“Alexei recently went through Kherson, as you know, so he is particularly reluctant to approach him with a gun.”

“Igor really likes this child.”

"Security that night was probably tight on the outside but loose on the inside. As long as you break in, things will be done."

Boris accepted this reason, paused, and then continued:

"I have done everything you asked for."

"Now, hand over the location of the warhead so that we can prepare simultaneously."

“Impossible.” Mikhail rejected his suggestion without hesitation.

"I will only provide detailed coordinates if I personally witness your people entering the villa."

Are you trying to control me?

"I am in control of the outcome."

There was silence for a second.

“Listen, Mikhail, when that time comes, I can take him away alive.”

“My people have plenty of ways to get him to talk.”

"But the problem is, you lose your chips and get kicked out."

“You’re welcome to try,” Mikhail sneered, “but you need to understand one thing.”

"Being able to find out the address doesn't mean you can get the item."

“It will take you at least several hours to pry information out of him.”

"Even if we use the Israeli method, he might bleed a little, but he can still hold on."

"But the people guarding the nuclear weapons are very sensitive. Once they sensed a problem, they would have already moved away."

Boris sounded dismissive: "How can you be sure he can last a few hours?"

Mikhail leaned back in his chair, glanced up at the moon outside the window, and slowly asked:
Do you know about his experiences when he was young?

"Another story?"

"It's not a story, it's how he survived."

"In 1956, Igor was twenty-three years old."

“At that time, he had just been transferred to the Caucasus Military District and was one of the few young people in the communications company who were recommended to ‘enter the classified area’.”

"One day, the mission went wrong, the informant went missing, and the political department suspected that someone was secretly passing on messages."

"He was called away and detained for 48 hours, and interrogated in shifts. Two stacks of interrogation records were kept."

"and then?"

There's no "then".

“He survived, and he keeps going up, it’s that simple.” Boris remained silent.

A moment later, a helpless sigh came from the other end of the phone.

"Then let's do it on New Year's Eve, as you said."

Mikhail's expression finally softened a bit: "The radio interference started at exactly 2 PM."

"At 2:15, your men will begin their advance. Within 20 minutes, control the communication points between the study and the main house, and ensure the surrounding area is cleared."

"The coordinates will be sent out in plaintext two minutes after I confirm that you have control of the site."

“I hope you don’t keep your promise,” Boris said.

Then, the call was hung up.

Mikhail pondered for a few seconds, then got up and left the study.

The corridor was warm and quiet, with several photos hanging on the wall.

There are photos of him in his military uniform when he was young, and also photos of his children at the beach when they were little.

The light was soft, casting warm yellow shadows from the living room.

Downstairs, his wife was wiping dishes in the kitchen, her sweater sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hair tied up, and her expression focused.

He went inside and leaned against the door, watching her.

"Is everything settled?" she asked in a low voice, without turning around.

"Ah."

"What's going on in Odessa?"

"almost."

Mikhail nodded, walked over, and took a glass of water from the table.

"Isn't it pretty chaotic over there lately?"

"Ah."

"If you're always focused on these things, when will you ever be able to find the time to be free?"

Mikhail didn't speak, but took a sip of water.

His wife put down her bowl and turned around: "You don't look too good today. How's work going?"

Mikhail did not answer, but only asked, "How are the children?"

Upon hearing this, his wife smiled and said, "Nadya said she wanted to get a dog again today, but I refused."

"She was still angry and posted a 'protest statement' on the bedroom door, which was a whole page long and said 'This is a strong opposition to the undemocratic mechanisms in the family.'"

"Maxim went to persuade his sister, and that was also written into the appendix, strongly condemning him for his 'ambiguous attitude and lack of stance'."

Mikhail listened without laughing or responding.

He slowly put down the water glass, his eyes slightly unfocused, as if trying to remember everything but not knowing where to begin.

His wife stared at him for a while, seemingly understanding something, yet also seemingly not seeing anything at all.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly.

Mikhail remained silent for a long time before changing the subject again: "Didn't you keep saying you wanted to go out and have fun?"

He took a step closer and touched her arm. "I've been thinking about it, and it's time."

The wife was taken aback at first, then her eyes lit up with surprise.

"Where to?" she asked instinctively.

Vienna.

"Didn't you say you wouldn't start until after the New Year?"

“It will be fine soon.” Mikhail’s tone was calm. “You take the children and go. I’ll arrange the flights. Bring bodyguards, a private jet, and don’t take the land route.”

Hearing this, the wife's brows furrowed almost imperceptibly: "And what about you?"

“I have to stay for a few days.” Mikhail reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering for a moment at her temple before settling on her shoulder. “I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

"Misha, did something happen?"

His wife's voice was very soft, as if she was hesitating whether to ask the question.

"No, nothing happened."

Mikhail looked down into her eyes.

"I will personally visit you in Vienna after the New Year."

"I promise."

"Trust me, Chrissy."

(End of this chapter)